The Consequences of Binge Drinking
by She's a Star
Summary: After a particularly stressful day, Maxwell attempts to drink away his troubles . . . with disastrous results. Set sometime during the fourth season.


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The Consequences of Binge Drinking

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by She's a Star

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Disclaimer: The Nanny isn't mine. As this fic proves rather well, it would be an incredibly scary show if it was.

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Author's Note: I honestly don't know where this came from. It's a bit...insane? Ah, but insanity is a beautiful thing. Fran seems a bit off. Sigh. Ah well. I'm up at 12:26 A.M. writing fanfiction for a category that has 13 stories and hasn't been updated in about a year. Show me a bit of mercy, will you?

*

There were some days where one simply shouldn't have gotten out of bed. These were the kind of days where everything was agonizing - you spill your coffee all over your shirt, you get in a fight with one of your children, you find out that the nanny you employed is going out on a date (and will no doubt have her heart stomped all over _again_), and you have some sort of colossal disaster at work.

So far all of the above had occurred, and Maxwell Sheffield concluded that this was, in fact, one of those days.

As he made his way home from work (oh-so-conveniently being beaten to the nearest cab by an old lady who looked _at least_ one hundred), he found himself wishing that the world would just open up beneath his feet and swallow him alive. His shirt sported huge, blotched coffee stains, Margaret had exploded at him after he'd refused to let her go to some party that was apparently 'the event of the year', _and_ the head actress in their production had quit and the show premiered _that weekend_. (Though it _had_ been a bit of a consolation to watch C.C. chase after her yelling out desperate promises of what she'd do for their pampered star if she wouldn't quit, which happened to include setting her up with Ben Affleck.)

And then there was Miss Fine.

_Miss Fine._

(Maxwell sighed.)

He'd forgotten his briefcase in another not-so-convenient happening that morning, and she'd come to the theater to return it to him, only to be discovered by one of the actors. This particular actor (Paulo Radriguez...honestly, what the bloody hell kind of a name was Paulo?) was one that Maxwell couldn't stand, and of course he'd put the moves on the nanny approximately a fraction of a second after setting eyes on her.

Of course, it hadn't been _entirely_ Paulo's fault. No, Miss Fine had pranced in there with her short little red miniskirt and sequin-covered black top - she hadn't even opened her mouth to speak yet, so naturally she'd made a suitable target. And so Paulo had asked her out, and she'd accepted.

Maxwell honestly didn't know why Miss Fine hadn't noticed a pattern in the men she dated already. Sure, they were all smooth talking hand kissers who showered her with compliments and attention, but none of them were ever around for long, and usually left her wailing. (And to hear Miss Fine wailing was a _most _unpleasant sound indeed.) When was she going to realize that her heart would be _much_ safer at home with him?

...Er, and the children, of course. She _was_ their nanny, after all. 

Conveniently, _another_ cab that he was heading toward was taken by someone else, and at that very moment, the sky chose to erupt into thunder before rain began to pour.

Apparently, when Fate planned a bad day in his future, it went all out.

Groaning, he wished desperately for an umbrella as he scanned his surroundings. A bit farther down the sidewalk, a tacky neon sign proclaimed 'Charlie's Bar' in lurid letters. He supposed that he could step in there until the rain stopped, or at least until he could call a cab. 

God knew he could really use a drink.

*

It really figured.

Fran Fine had gone all out for her date with Paulo - new little black dress, hair carefully teased, make-up applied to perfection...

And all for no reason: Mr. Sheffield wasn't home.

Fran had long ago concluded that the best part of dating was usually Mr. Sheffield's reaction before she left. (It was even better if her date came to pick her up; the jealousy was so delightfully obvious.)

"Niles?" she called, descending the staircase. "Where's Mr. Sheffield?"

The butler looked up from where he was dusting the bookcase to reply, "Not here to witness your flourishing departure, apparently."

"Funny," she deadpanned, glancing around the house to make sure that Mr. Sheffield was, in fact, not home. "Great. Now I don't get the five minutes of glory and I'm stuck going out with a Don Juan wannabe."

"Well, I assure you, Miss Fine, if Mr. Sheffield were here, he'd be attempting to keep his eyes in their sockets about now," Niles said.

"Oh, Niles," she cooed, grinning at him. "You're too sweet."

"Sweet?" a female voice asked derisively. "Niles? Nanny Fine, sometimes I worry about your sanity."

C.C. Babcock breezed into the room, fixing a haughty glare on the Sheffield family's butler that he only too gladly returned.

"Oh, really?" Niles replied in a tone of mock concern. "How sweet. We've long since given up on yours."

"Can it, Mr. Clean," C.C. snapped.

"I-"

"All right, all right!" Fran cut in, shaking her head in disbelief. "That's _enough_! Can't you two _ever_ get along?"

Niles and C.C. exchanged a look before simultaneously replying. "No!"

"What's the fun in that?" Niles demanded in horror.

"Exactly!" C.C. agreed, aghast.

Fran shrugged. "Fine. I'll leave you two to shouting your sweet nothings."

"That's all we ask," Niles said, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"Is it really _too much_?" C.C. threw in.

Rolling her eyes, Fran left the pair to their little bickering fest and retrieved her purse and coat from the closet. Great. She hadn't even left the house yet, and already her date sucked. 

Oh well. She supposed she had gotten herself into this mess. (Though she wasn't about to admit it to anyone, especially a certain boss of hers.) After all, you really couldn't expect much when you agreed to meet someone at Charlie's Bar.

*

"And then she got all bloody _pissed off_ because I took back what I said!" Maxwell continued, slamming his glass onto the counter with flourish. He vaguely wondered when, exactly, everything had gone so incredibly blurry.

"Give me more of that, that's smashing," he added, nodding in the general direction of the empty glass.

"Are you sure you can handle it?" the bartender replied, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

Maxwell glared in irritation. _Who_ was this woman? How dare she imply that he couldn't hold his liquor? Well, he would show her!

"Of sure I'm course!"

She snorted.

...Well, that hadn't come out right.

"Of _course_ I'm _sure_," he attempted again, this time successfully.

She eyed him dubiously. "If you say so, buddy."

Actually, she wasn't bad-looking, this woman. Perhaps he could get her number. Ha! That would certainly show Miss Fine. If she was going to go out dating every other night, then he would to! If _that_ was the way she was going to treat him after he'd told her that he loved her, then so be it!

"Wait," the bartender cut in, "I thought you took it back."

He eyed her in disbelief. "Are you a mind-reader? Bloody amazing!"

"Yeah, just call me Miss Cleo," she drawled sarcastically before informing him, "You're talkin' out loud, buddy."

Oh. Right.

He'd been wondering why the voice in his head had seemed so unnaturally loud.

Well, that made sense of it, then.

She was rather smart, this woman. Quite attractive. Miss Fine would hate her.

"Say, can I get your number?"

The bartender eyed him skeptically. "You're not serious."

"Sure I am!" he replied jovially. "Miss Fine will hate you!"

"Compelling," the bartender deadpanned. "Say, does this Miss Fine own any dangerously short black dresses?"

Maxwell nodded, a grin coming to his face. "Yeah. Let me tell you, that woman is _so_ sexy-"

"Does her hair add about a foot to her height?" the bartender continued.

"On most occasions, yes," Maxwell nodded.

"Well, then, buddy, I think your Miss Fine just came in."

*

Okay. So Paulo wasn't here.

Splendid. She'd been stood up.

But there was someone else sitting on one of the bar stools, conversing in a very loud, _incredibly_ slurred British accent.

A very familiar someone.

Fran tentatively approached the stool and tapped the man on the shoulder. "Mr. Sheffield?"

"That sounds just like Miss Fine now!" he boomed enthusiastically.

Yup.

Definitely Mr. Sheffield.

But Mr. Sheffield as Fran had never encountered him before.

"Er...Mr. Sheffield?" she asked. "Have you been drinking?"

He turned around, donning an extremely roguish smile that looked very out of place on his face. Of course, it woulda been charming, had his eyes not been frighteningly glazed over.

"Hallo, darling," he said, grin widening. "Aren't you looking _sexy_ tonight?"

Yup.

He'd definitely been drinking.

"So, you're the infamous Miss Fine, huh?" the attractive young bartender asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

"What's he been tellin' you?" Fran demanded at once, alarmed. 

"Oh, God, where do I start?" the bartender replied, laughing a little. "Don't worry, I won't hold it against you. He's pretty smashed." She paused and smirked. "He said you were twenty-nine. I think it's safe to declare him a source of unreliable information." After a moment's consideration, she added, "He _did _describe your voice pretty accurately, though." 

Fran gasped indignantly. "Well, _excuse_ me!"

_Damn you, Mr. Sheffield,_ she thought, glaring at him. He responded with a wave and a drunken half-smile.

"Is it true that you stole one of Barbra Streisand's shoes?" continued the bartender, apparently oblivious.

"Let's not get into that," Fran replied flatly, hooking an arm through her boss's. "Come on, Mr. Sheffield. Let's get you home."

"What?" he asked in surprise. "You mean you don't want to stay here?"

Fran cast a dark glare in the bartender's direction. "No."

"Why not?" Mr. Sheffield asked, completely oblivious. "It's rather lovely here, I think."

"We're going home," Fran announced, "I've gotta get you in bed."

The bartender unsuccessfully attempted to choke back laughter.

Well, so much for the subtle seduction technique. 

The sad thing was that that hadn't even been intentional.

For once.

"Now, Miss Fine!" he cried indignantly. "Just because I'm in what one might consider a vulnerable state doesn't mean..." His voice trailed off, and he grinned rather mischievously at her. "Say, you look _incredible_."

"Thanks," she said flatly.

"Perhaps we should..._get to bed_," he continued, winking at her.

Oh, for the love a' Barbra.

"Ya know," she muttered to herself, dragging him out of the bar and pointedly ignoring the laughter that trailed after them, "Normally, I'd be loving this, but _really_. The only time he's interested in me is when he's completely drunk." After a moment's consideration, she decided, "We're gonna have to get some more alcohol in the house."

*

"...For your _information_, Butler Boy, I have celebrity potential! I just choose to work _behind_ the scenes."

"Ah, yes," Niles agreed, sighing. "If only that damned collie hadn't beat you to the role, Lassie Come Home would have made you a star."

"Yes," C.C. agreed, mimicking his wistful tone. "And if only it weren't for that damned feather duster, you-"

Their exchange of semi-vicious repartee was cut off, however, when the front door burst open, revealing Nanny Fine and a suspiciously unstable-looking Maxwell.

"Miss Fine, I want you!" he cried fervently.

C.C. let out a gasp of shock before she could stop herself, and was rewarded by a disgustingly haughty glance that the (barely) male equivalent of Martha Stewart shouldn't have been able to direct at her.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Nanny Fine replied, rolling her eyes. "I'd consider it if I didn't know that you'd somehow wind up blaming me for all this before firin' me in the morning."

"Miss Fine, don't be ridiculous!" Maxwell cried. "I need you! I love you! I want to father your children!"

This was too much.

(Though Niles apparently didn't think so, judging by the gleeful snort of laughter from his direction.)

"Maxwell!" C.C. cut in, rushing toward him and attempting at concern while still shooting a death glare at Nanny Fine. "What's happened? What's she done to you?" Focusing her gaze on the nanny, she hissed, "You've got him under some sort of spell, don't you? There's no way he would act this way otherwise." 

"Really, woman, you should know by now that love spells won't work," Niles cut in irritably. "God knows you've tried them all." He paused. "You know, if it weren't for your positively grotesque appearance and downright detestable manner, I would wonder whether you were even a witch or not."

"Isn't there a bottle of Windex calling you somewhere?" she snapped. "Now, Maxwell, you don't pay any attention to Nanny Fine. God knows what she's done. You just-"

"Miss Fine, you're so beautiful!" Maxwell continued. "So radiant, so gorgeous-"

"All right, Mister." Nanny Fine poked him in the chest to emphasize her point, "You don't even try it, because I'm not going to consider anything that comes out of your mouth!"

"Marry me!" Maxwell begged, dropping to his knees dramatically.

"Never mind," Nanny Fine said abruptly.

"Maxwell!" C.C. wailed, "_Stop_ it! Now, you go upstairs and leave the poor woman alone!"

"No need for you to get involved, Miss Babcock," Nanny Fine said, smiling as Maxwell kissed his way up her arm a la Gomez Addams. "I'll fend for myself. But, really, thanks for caring."

"Niles!" C.C. cried in an act of absolute desperation. "What do I _do_?"

"You could always kiss him," Niles offered. "That would sober him up right away. If, of course, he didn't die of disgust, which is all too likely. I don't suggest you take the risk."

Letting out a little shriek of fury, C.C. stomped over to Maxwell and slapped him hard across the face. "Snap out of it!"

He blinked a few times, a bemused expression settling over his features, before replying, rather huskily, "C.C...."

She smiled.

Ah. This was more like it.

"Yes, Maxwell?"

A smile had begun to play around the corners of his lips...

And abruptly died.

"How _dare_ you do that?" he demanded angrily. "You're fired!"

"Maxwell!" C.C. cried incredulously.

"Mr. Sheffield!" Nanny Fine chimed in. "How could you just _fire_ her like that?"

"You're incredibly gorgeous," he responded, grinning. "How about we go upstairs?"

"Mr. _Sheffield_!"

Maxwell, however, apparently wouldn't take no for an answer. He grabbed Nanny Fine's hand and ascended the staircase rather dangerously, stumbling every other step. 

C.C. watched them in utmost desolation, mouth fixed into an 'o' of disbelief.

"Don't worry, Miss Babcock," Niles offered, patting her on the shoulder. "You've always got your celebrity potential to fall back on. I heard they were holding auditions for Purina ads."

She slowly turned on him with her reserved-for-special-situations potentially lethal death glare.

"What?" Niles asked innocently. "I was only trying to help."

*

"Good God, I have a splitting headache," Mr. Sheffield complained as he entered the kitchen the next morning.

Fran looked up from the orange juice she was pouring to reply. "Yeah, well, I'd think so, after how you acted last night."

Looking vaguely alarmed, Mr. Sheffield massaged his temples and asked, "How _did_ I act last night?"

"Ya mean you don't remember?"

"...Should I?" he asked testily.

"Well, I dunno. I'm pretty certain that I won't forget it anytime soon." She flashed him a wide smile.

He was looking quite worried now. "Miss Fine, _what_ happened?"

She shrugged, a coquettish grin playing at her lips. "I dunno," she sang out. "Ya told me I was beautiful..." (A sigh of relief.), "...Ya tried to kiss me at _least_ five times." (Worried expression returned.), "Ya wouldn't stop sayin' that ya loved me." (Worried expression intensified.), "...Hmm...what else? Oh, right. Ya _repeatedly_ begged me to make love to you-" (He cringed.), "Before proposing and dragging me upstairs." As an afterthought she added, "Oh, and ya fired Miss Babcock."

"I don't _care_ about Miss Babcock," Mr. Sheffield shot back, looking downright terrified now. "Miss Fine, would you kindly tell me what happened? Did we...?"

"Well," she said, grinning as she toyed with the ties of her bathrobe, "We went into your bedroom...ya leaned forward to kiss me..."

Mr. Sheffield was currently donning an expression of absolute horror. "Miss Fine, you have to understand that _whatever_ happened was completely out of my control. You can't hold me responsible for things I may have said or..._done_, and-"

"Relax," she cut in, waving a dismissive hand. "Ya passed out as soon as the door was closed."

"Oh, thank God," he breathed. A pause. "Erm...no offense."

"None taken," she replied easily. "After all, there'll be plenty of time for that on our honeymoon."

His eyebrows shot up.

"Kidding, I'm kidding!" she cried, holding her hands up in surrender. "I'm not gonna hold ya to that."

He sighed in relief. "Thank you, Miss Fine."

"Sure," she said, grinning. "Now, you'd better get ahold of Miss Babcock. She went pretty insane after you fired her. Niles wasn't helping."

"I'd imagine not," Mr. Sheffield replied. "Yes, I'd better get on the phone with her right away."

"No, sir, please!" a voice cried from behind the door. 

"Niles," growled Mr. Sheffield, annoyed. "Have you been listening in on us _again_?"

The butler came into the kitchen, looking chagrined. "No, of course not, Sir!" 

"Niiiles," Mr. Sheffield said warningly.

"Maybe? A little?" Niles offered weakly. "But _please_, Sir, don't call Miss Babcock just yet! You pay me minimum wage; my life is normally so devoid of happiness; it's the least you could do!"

"Oh, all right," Maxwell agreed reluctantly. "Now, I'm going back to bed. My head feels like it's going to explode."

"You'd best get some rest, sir," Niles agreed.

"Feel better, Mr. Sheffield," Fran threw in as he left the kitchen.

"So," Niles said after the door had swung shut behind their boss, "You're not going to hold him to the proposal?"

"I know! I don't know what came over me!" Fran said, a bit miserably. "Don't tell Ma. If she finds out, she'll kill me."

"Your secret is safe with me, Miss Fine," Niles assured her.

Fran sighed. "It figures. The one chance I have with Mr. Sheffield, and I blow it."

"Who knows? Maybe the chance will come around again in another four years."

Fran fixed him with a glare.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said quickly. "Don't worry, Miss Fine. He'll get drunk again someday."

"I hope so," Fran replied wistfully.

"If worst comes to worst, I'll throw a bit of vodka into one of his drinks one of these days," Niles offered.

Fran grinned, taking his hand in her own. "Aw, Niles, that's so sweet of you!"

He shrugged, smiling back. "What are friends for?"

FIN 


End file.
